Scatter my ashes here...

Scatter my ashes here...
scatter my ashes in the desert...

Wednesday, January 21, 2015


This is a story of a love affair with a running bra.

Except it's more of a love-hate story. Like a bad ex, the nightmare stays with you, even though it's all over now.

Last night, before I got out of my clothes to take a shower and relax before bedtime, I was wearing a running bra, a black camo thing, it just happened to be my favorite one, underneath a shirt that has a sort of low-cut scoop neck. I was just hanging out at the house, otherwise I would have been more modest in my dress. I bent over the sink to begin brushing my teeth and I screamed.

Not a loud, bloodcurdling scream, but a subdued, dismayed, dramatic noise that was more than a gasp of horror and less than a shriek.

I noticed something for the first time...from the skin above the top seam of the bra, extending down into the bra about a half-inch, there was something different.

It's the moment where you realize, it's all going downhill.

Turkey cleavage.

That tiny fold of skin that used to be perfectly smooth and blemish-free, now is wrinkled, the lack of estrogen to keep the skin poofed out, the undeniable quiet sign of menopause and aging.

Was I dehydrated? Was it a tight bra holding things too close together? Are my eyes going bad?

I looked again.

Dennis was downstairs on the futon, watching a movie on the laptop. He heard me scream but wasn't concerned. Now I was standing on the stairs, looking down at him.

He looked up at me, over his glasses, his headphones on like Mickey Mouse ears. "What happened?"

I shut my toothbrush off. "I have turkey cleavage!" For a split second I thought he might say, "You just figured that out?"

Lucky for him, he didn't. He shook his head. "You don't have turkey anything."

"Good answer." I turned the toothbrush back on and went back up the stairs.

I looked again. It was only there if I bent over far enough. When I stood up, it disappeared. Smooth. No wrinkles.

When I took off my bra there was no more sign of the turkey skin. I checked my neck too, smooth. No trace of turkey skin.

Dammit. That's what a running bra does to you at my age.

After all these years of trying to find the perfect running bra, one that won't chafe, won't rub your nipples raw, won't give you road rash, heat rash, scars, bloody shoulders, back and chest, wicks moisture, doesn't leave a permanent imprint on your skin, doesn't ride up, isn't too tight or too loose. It hasn't been easy. It's funny how out of all these expensive running bras I've had over the years, the most comfortable ones have been the cheap ones from Walmart.

Except now it betrayed me, showed me my latest flaw. I think I'll need a mental health day...

There's only one solution. Like I always say to women who complain about seeing the wrinkles on the front of their thighs when they run, I'll use the expression I learned from my friend Keith:



HappyTrails said...

Ha. I was just thinking of checking to see how you have been the past few weeks. Isn't it comforting to know you don't have turkey anything? I like your advice to not look down - preach it, sister. Seeing my aging, dimpled thighs is a bit disturbing, for sure. Does adding a little soy to our diets help, at all, with the estrogen/wrinkling/dimpled thing??? LOL. Glad you are well! :-)

Alene Gone Bad said...

Not sure what happened to the first comment, Kathleen but yes I have been grumpy, the brain doesn't quite want to kick in. I need a brain transplant. I don't know that soy is going to do much, but if it works as a turkey replacement, I'm all for it.